


Shaken

by IneffableAlien



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, POV Michael (Good Omens), Rare Pairings, Sad Michael, Scene: Crowley's Trial in Hell (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:15:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24124216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Michael delivers holy water to Hell.
Relationships: Ligur/Michael (Good Omens)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 48





	Shaken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Scrumptious_Bastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrumptious_Bastard/gifts), [Doublematch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doublematch/gifts), [MundaneChampagne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/gifts).



“The Archangel Michael?” it said in shock.

Not the ghost of a smile on her mouth but something more animal in nature, and falcon-sharp. She imagined her eyes were like glass now, her stoic expression trained on the thing before her. None of that betrayed her insides: a corporeal heart that confused and alarmed her, how it was pounding in her chest in ways she never knew it could; the sensation that she was trapped in the prison of her body, suddenly too tight to hold the all of her, as she screamed.

Had he screamed?

He must have, it did not matter that it was near impossible for her to imagine him doing so. The agony must have been unbearable beyond comprehension. She was sure his companion that day had screamed, he had always been an excitable mess of a being. That one and she respected each other as much as they disgusted each other. They had something so valuable to them in common.

She’d still been stunned when he contacted her so quickly as he had. “I don’t have anything for you,” he’d told her, through a mouth twisted like a screw. “S’cause …”

“You couldn’t touch it,” she’d responded hollowly. “Yes. I understand.” How was this happening, this conversation, as if she were some war widow being presented with her dead husband’s jacket, and not a soldier herself?

That had been the entirety of words exchanged.

“Well, wank-wings, you brought the stuff?” Hastur asked now, but his black eyes wetly met hers, and there were oceans of things unsaid hidden beneath the flippant phrasing he enacted for the audience of Hell.

“I did,” said Michael, fake calm, her wide sleeves like wings around the pitcher of holy water. “I’ll be back to collect it.”

“No,” said Hastur quickly, “I think perhaps you ought to do the honors. It’s, uh … I’ve seen what that stuff can do.”

His fear was legitimate, and reasonable, and he was traumatized by what he saw surely, but there was more there. In his own macabre way, he was handing her a gift. She was grateful for it. She knew she could not risk how it might look for her to remain in Hell any longer than she needed, but she could have this. In this way she could be executioner.

Michael was justice, perhaps not patron of it but an arbiter nonetheless. This was her job.

As she poured the contents of a seemingly bottomless vessel, she raised her other hand and gave Hastur the subtlest head tilt of acknowledgement, her lips stitched seams in order to keep that internal screaming where it lived.

Demons were such foul, despicable creatures. That went without saying, didn’t it?

She knew he had been different. He could be trusted, they could confide in one another. Sometimes, it was as simple as her needing to complain about her asshole colleagues, while they lazed in afterglow, and he had always hung on her every word. He liked the sound of her voice. He liked the way the guarded lines of her face softened when she felt she could speak freely. She snatched tiny moments of vulnerability from him eventually as well, wherein he confessed that he occasionally believed that he felt things “wrong” for a demon to feel, traces of empathy, perhaps. He had been handsome. He had been strong.

He had been something like hers, for a time.

When Michael came back into Hell’s court to retrieve the weaponry of Heaven, she froze dead in her tracks. There was that senseless beating of her heart again.

The thing lying in the bathtub was unharmed. It mocked her openly. God had decided to spare it.

Today, Michael was to be Justice. This was her job.

But today, as never before, Michael Doubted.

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
